


Adam Fucks a Peach

by thelilnan



Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 05:36:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13140171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilnan/pseuds/thelilnan
Summary: You know that One Scene inCall Me By Your Name?Yeah.





	Adam Fucks a Peach

“It looks like I’m going to be stuck here a while,” Lawrence told Adam over the boy’s phone. Adam, who had been boredly switching between three channels on their tv, grunted, “Probably past midnight. Don’t worry about waiting up, I know you have that job tomorrow.”

It was true; Adam, for once, had to keep a schedule. The pulpy magazine he “worked” for (work being a relative and flattering term) had a few advertising assignments for him to fulfill all day the next day. Sunrise pictures at the park, noon-day pictures around the business district, tourist shots in late afternoon. They seemed to yield to the hints that Lawrence had been dropping whenever he popped by to visit Adam at the firm; this boy was much more talented than this little Nothing of a gossip rag gave him credit for. At the very least, Adam knew, the more experienced photographers had taken off for the summer. Most born and bred New York locals fled the city in the late summer, when everything was packed with tourists and all livable space suddenly became even more crowded than it usually was. Lawrence had even suggested they travel for a week or so, just to escape the dizzying monotony of the city. Adam wasn’t sure why those plans never materialized but as it was, he was employed more often than not now. Either way, he didn’t complain.

“Alright, go save those orphans.”

“Sick orphans,” Lawrence corrected. Adam could hear the smile in his voice and smiled back, reflexively.

“Sick orphans with cancer,” Adam provided. Lawrence scoffed, still grinning. It was a little too close to the truth. After an exchange of quick ‘love you’s, Adam hung up and continued channel surfing. Nothing held his interest for very long. Call it a symptom of summer; Adam was distracted, bored, and restless, but had no energy to leave the loft he shared with Lawrence. They had central air, after all. Why the fuck would he abandon that?

Shifting his head on the fine leather sofa that continually stuck to his back no matter how high the a/c was cranked, Adam saw the sun begin to set over the west end of Manhattan. He’d seen the sight many times before from that same position; reclined, relaxed, content. Usually, Lawrence would be home by now and starting dinner, or maybe reading something on his tablet while Adam rested his head in his lap, the older man’s hand carding through his hair. But just as often, Adam would be alone in the apartment and trying to decide how to fill the void of Lawrence’s presence.

His eyes shifted from the wide, factory-esque windows that lead to their private patio to the coffee table next to him, where the aforementioned tablet lay in sleep mode. Adam grabbed it and unlocked it after a couple of tries. The code was Diana’s birthday. Adam smirked.

The tablet opened to the book Lawrence had last been reading. He was pretty well advanced through the book, judging by the page number at the bottom. Adam’s eyes searched the page for the title and after another second, he saw it.

_Call Me By Your Name_

He’d heard of that. Wasn’t it a movie? Some Sundance art film. Adam had seen mentions of it around but he didn’t know much about it. Supposedly, it was some gay romance set in the ‘80s, somewhere in Europe. Curiosity taking hold, Adam clicked over to Google and searched through synopses and images. Armie Hammer, some young actor named Timothée something, and a handful of people besides. What struck Adam most was the visual similarities between the two leads and Lawrence and himself. Armie and Lawrence both had that tall, blond, unbearably conventionally handsome look to them (Armie being much more toned than Lawrence “Dad Bod” Gordon could hope to be, but then again, he was much older), while Adam and Timothée were both dark haired, sleepy-eyed, and much smaller. He actually reminded him a lot of himself when he was a teenager; scrawny, bored-looking, always in the background, observing rather than participating.

But it was a love story. Adam’s nose wrinkled when he saw the age difference. _17?_ But then he remembered Lawrence was in his early 40s while he himself had not reached 30, so he didn’t have much place to talk.

_I’m not 17 though_ , Adam thought with a flustered huff. _… But he would’ve been 30 when I was._

He felt sick for a moment before clicking back to the book.

So Lawrence was reading this. He didn’t think he’d read pulpy romance books, let alone gay ones (he didn’t know _why_ he didn’t expect Lawrence to like that stuff. The two of them had been living together and fucking regularly for over a year now). But the man contained multitudes and Adam had long ago decided he wasn’t the one to try to figure all of them out.

Before he could stop himself, he began reading the page Lawrence had last been on. One of the two protagonists was listening to the radio and eating a peach. Adam subconsciously licked his lips, remembering they had an array of fresh summer fruits on the counter in the kitchen.

He read on, the boy thinking of Oliver (who must’ve been Lawrence’s avatar of the two) as he ate his fruit and listened to the soft, Italian rock that filtered over the dying radio. His fingers explored the second fruit of the two, dipping into the crevice where the stem once was. Adam felt an unfamiliar heat creep up the back of his neck.

The boy pushed his finger into the fruit, the soft squelch of flesh described in detail. The juices flowed out of the ripe summer fruit and spilled onto the teen’s bare chest. Adam swallowed and shifted on his back, heels pressed into the leather of the sofa. _Where is this going??_

The scene continued, the boy pushing and tearing at the peach, marveling at the sweet smell, the soft flesh, the overripe juices. Adam’s throat felt dry. The boy reached the pit and ripped it free, scattering it to the floor, and took in the sight of the cored peach. Then, after a long moment’s hesitation, he moved it down his body, juice dripping, to his undone shorts—

A noise in the hallway outside their apartment door jolted Adam from the reality of the boy and his peach, as if he had been doing something he shouldn't. He felt hot all over, even nervous, the horrific idea of what was to come burned into his brain.

_Did Lawrence know?_

Probably not, he’d read a page or so ahead of where the older man had been. Adam quickly returned to the e-book and clicked back a couple pages to where Lawrence left off, then locked the tablet and set it aside. He sat up, shaking himself, and looked back to the tv. Some talk show about some miracle product Adam didn’t care about.

The boy and his peach lingered in the back of his mind.

Shaking his head, Adam stood from the sofa and cracked his back. It figured. These art books—gay romance ones, particularly—had a tendency to do weird shit like that. Adam tried to push it from his mind. Do other shit. He grabbed his half-empty box of cigarettes from under the coffee table, as well as his lighter, and went out to the porch.

The sun was nearly gone now, the dark blue night time sky dominating Adam’s view of the city. Streetlights and building lights were all flickering on as the last, golden rays disappeared beyond the horizon. A light breeze picked up, ruffling Adam’s hair as he tried to light his cigarette. It was a blessed contrast to the nearly-suffocating heat, inescapable even as the sun died and the starless city sky took over. Adam inhaled deeply of his cigarette, holding the poisonous smoke in his lungs for a second before exhaling over the railing. Lawrence hated that he still smoked and made him promise, again and again, that he would quit. Adam hadn’t listened, though he had cut back dramatically since first living with the doctor. He twirled the lit cigarette in his fingers, watching the small flame slowly eat through the paper and tobacco, before inhaling again.

He was still thinking about that peach.

Adam ran his free hand over his face and cursed gay art books, wholesale.

Despite all this, he had to admit he was still hungry. Cigarette between his lips, Adam wandered back inside to the overflowing bowl of fruit Lawrence insisted keeping on the counter. He said room temperature fruit was better and would encourage them to eat it before it all browned, but Adam wasn’t so sure. Then again, here he was, grabbing an honeycrisp apple and, after a moment’s hesitation, a peach.

Deciding he’d smoked enough for the moment, Adam stubbed out the remainder of his cigarette and sat down in the canvas recliner they had stationed on the porch. He could see the city street far below their apartment, cars driving maddeningly slowly in the late evening rush, while hot dog carts turned on their nightlights, hoping to get a few more customers in before calling it a night. The lights in Central Park, which he could just barely see if he craned his head toward the railing, lit up the thick foliage and highlighted the late evening joggers and small families that continued to explore the park. Adam bit into the apple, thinking back to the last time he and Lawrence had spent a evening in the park.

It wasn’t something they did often, but it was nice when they did. Adam had never been treated to any real romance in his life. His past girlfriends were almost exclusively third wave feminists who didn’t believe in many of the more antiquated traditions of courtship. There were never any flowers or traditional dinner-and-a-movie dates, no anniversaries (none of them had lasted that long), no long walks in the starlight or getting lost in each other’s eyes. All the men Adam had been with couldn’t strictly be considered dates or boyfriends; that handful of men were all brief, adrenaline-fueled encounters, often in the dark and aided by alcohol, over too quickly to know each other’s names. Adam took another bite of his apple.

Then there was Lawrence, who was probably the most old-fashioned person Adam had ever met in real life, besides his own parents. Lawrence loved every little tradition of a conventional romance; ‘thinking about you’ texts, ‘just because’ presents, romantic dinners, long walks (as long as his prosthetic would permit). It was refreshing, if still a bit odd to the younger man. He’d never been pampered or praised as much as he had been with Lawrence. It never failed to surprise him that someone actually, actively _loved_ him. And he, of course, loved Lawrence back, but it was harder for him to express it. Genuine emotion wasn’t his forte, nor voicing those emotions. But Lawrence understood. Because he was Lawrence and he was perfect.

Adam finished the apple down to the core and regarded it a moment, then the railing of the patio. He chucked it over the side, mildly amused with the idea it might hit someone on its descent. He then remembered that old urban legend about a penny falling off the Empire State Building and embedding itself in someone’s skull. Adam clenched his jaw. They could pull his DNA off that apple, too. They could trace it back to him, call him a murderer, send him off to the electric chair. It _wouldn’t_ happen. But it could.

_Fuck._

Shifting his attention from the potential homicide investigation, Adam saw the peach that rested in his lap. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands, studying the texture of the skin. The flesh was ripe and soft just under the surface of the dark red skin. It was ready to eat and probably sickly sweet because of it. Studying the fruit now, however, Adam didn’t feel hungry. He felt curious and excited in a way he shouldn’t be just from staring at the peach. But the image of the boy in the book doing exactly as he was now, fingertips skimming the fruit with forbidden thoughts racing through his hormone-addled mind, it gave Adam a bit of a thrill.

Swallowing, he did as the younger boy had done in the book, and pressed one finger to the divet where the fruit’s stem once was. It took some effort, but his finger popped through the flesh, juice rolling down the curve of the peach’s body, and dripped onto his shirt. Adam continued to apply pressure, juice flowing freely as he destroyed the fruit, digging into the center and grazing the rough, woody texture of the pit. He wrinkled his nose, brain screaming at him to consider what he was doing— _are you seriously going to do this??_ —and dug at the soft, juicy flesh of the fruit until the pit was free. He bit at some of the fruit clinging to it. It had a bitter, almost acrid taste as a result of being so close to the pit, but with a lingering sweetness that only enticed Adam further. He tossed the pit aside (to his left, to remain on the porch, rather than over the edge like the apple core had gone) and took in the result of his labors.

The peach was cored, soft interior exposed and dripping steadily with its juices. Adam could smell the sweetness of it, covering his hands and the stomach of his shirt, which he had begun to sweat through in the warm, summer night. His throat was dry and every instinct he had told him to simply eat the peach. It smelled _so_ good. But another part of him, the part driving his blood southbound, told him to undo the fly of his jeans and experience what the boy had experienced.

Swallowing, Adam followed that darker impulse, one sticky hand undoing the button and zip of his pants. He shuffled it out of the way enough to expose the cotton-covered bulge of his beginning erection. Adam was half-hard and continuing to grow. Shaking, he reached his peach juice-covered hand into his boxers and freed his cock, giving it a pump or two to get himself as hard as he assumed was necessary. It didn’t take much. Soon he was standing firmly erect out of his underwear, cored peach in one hand and the other shaking as he held onto the base of his cock.

Without another thought, he wrapped the fruit around the tip of his cock and rotated it on a tight swivel. Adam gasped. It felt _good_.

The fruit was too shallow to properly thrust into, but he found a way around that. Adam swiveled it over the head of his cock, again and again, shivering at the soft, wet flesh that only continued to heat up as he worked it. He slid it down the length of his cock, then back up again, the juices leaving him more sensitive to the slight breeze that would waft by the porch now and then. Adam was getting close. He kicked his legs open, naked heels of his bare feet pressing into the canvas of the recliner, and thrust upwards into the peach, gasping raggedly as he fucked the fruit. He was so close. A thrust or two more and a tight swivel of the peach over the sensitive head of his cock and Adam came, a broken noise escaping him as he sullied the fruit.

Shaking, Adam placed the fruit on the table to his right, his cum streaking the dented opening of the soft, juicy flesh. He gasped for air, again and again, and tried to deny that was the hardest and fastest he’d come in a while.

Adam tucked himself back into his boxers and stared at the cloudy night sky as post-orgasm exhaustion overcame him. He drifted to sleep easily, the soft summer breeze cooling the light sweat on his brow.

—

As promised, Lawrence returned home well past midnight. The night had been hectic and his students’ paperwork had gotten the better of him. He’d read through so many poorly written reports and files that he’d gone nearly cross-eyed by the end of it. Thank God he lived in the city and was able to avoid driving as much has possible, because the journey home otherwise would not have been an easy one. He’d dozed off on the subway a handful of times, as testament to this.

He was surprised to find the lights of the living room still on, the tv still playing whatever late night drivel it had scheduled to keep insomniacs company, but no Adam. It didn’t take Lawrence long to find the younger man, however. He’d left the door to the porch open and there he was, curiously disheveled but peacefully asleep nonetheless. Lawrence drank the boy in for a moment, leaning against the doorway to their porch, a/c at his back and the warm summer night air meeting his face.

He loosened his tie and unceremoniously shucked his jacket, letting the expensive material hit the floor, as he advanced upon the sleeping man. Adam barely stirred, making soft, sleepy noises that Lawrence found he’d fallen in love with over the year they’d been together. Kneeling silently beside him, Lawrence placed a soft kiss against Adam’s cheek, then his nose at the gentle crook near his eyes (his favorite place to kiss). From there he trailed downward, kissing Adam’s lips, chin, and neck. It was then the younger man woke, gently, and hummed with pleasure as Lawrence continued.

He pushed the hem of Adam’s shirt aside and kissed his stomach, pleased to see the sharp inhale, reacting to his mouth upon the sensitive skin, but interested in the taste. It was sweet, like fruit, and slightly tacky against his lips. Lawrence kissed his stomach again, lower towards the hem of his pants, and Adam’s stomach reflexively sucked in again, and again, there was that flavor.

Lawrence continued, already having made up his mind about spontaneously pleasuring the younger man, pushing the curious thoughts from the forefront of his thought for the moment. He quickly found Adam’s cock in his already undone jeans, wrapping his lips around the hardening flesh and finding, to his surprise, the taste lingered there as well. This gave him pause; he swallowed, brow furrowed, deaf to Adam’s excited gasps as he searched for the source of the mysterious, sticky-sweet flavor. Lawrence bobbed his head, tongue lapping at Adam’s cock, finding the whole thing similarly sweet.

Eventually he pulled back, looking to Adam with an amused, confused smile.

“What did you do?”

Adam was strawberry red and currently trying to disappear into the canvas reclining chair. He stammered pathetically, in no way able to excuse or explain the phenomenon his skin seemed to be plagued with.

Then Lawrence saw it.

A thoroughly sullied peach, sat not-so-innocently beside him on the patio table, crushed, smushed, and streaked with white.

Lawrence began to laugh.

Adam wanted to die.

“Did you read my book?” Lawrence asked when he finally stopped laughing enough to speak. Adam grimaced, “I know about the peach scene. Did it inspire you?”

Adam threw up his hands, avoiding Lawrence’s gaze. The older man continued to chuckle, leaning up across Adam’s body to kiss him, grinning despite himself even as Adam moaned with relief. He was sensitive and prone to defensive measures if teased too much. Lawrence had learned to work around those things and Adam had learned to relax, to let things go, because Lawrence would never hurt him. He had to believe that.

“Oh, _Elio,”_ Lawrence hummed against his lips, “You perfect thing.”

“What?” Adam chuckled nervously, thin hands carding through Lawrence’s perfect hair.

“Elio. The boy in the book.”

“So you’re Oliver.”

“And you’re Elio,” Lawrence kissed him again. Adam could live with that. Life imitates art, after all.

The kiss deepened quickly enough, leaving Adam a squirming, eager mess beneath the older man. Lawrence returned to his earlier mission, taking Adam’s hard cock into his mouth and bobbing his head along the length, revelling in the beautiful noises he made as he did so. It wasn’t long before the photographer’s hands were tangled in Lawrence’s perfect, blond hair, pulling in his way to warn the older man of his impending climax. Lawrence only doubled his efforts. In no time, Adam was pressing his heels into the canvas and gasping Lawrence’s name as he came in the older man’s mouth.

It wasn’t quite as sweet as peach juice but Lawrence enjoyed it all the same.

Wiping his mouth, Lawrence watched Adam come down from his high, chest heaving with deep, dry gulps of air. His hair, if possible, was even more of a mess than usual, which Lawrence found curious, but that was Adam. His curiosity. His continual frustration. His enigma.

He could only hope to keep pace behind him.

Lawrence looked again to the sullied peach, grinning lopsidedly.

“What if I ate that?”

“ _Lawrence!_ ”


End file.
